Happy's Lament
by pensandpaper13
Summary: When one of their team is assaulted, the cyclone must battle their EQs and figure out how to help, each in their own unique way. Rated MA for adult content and themes of sexual assault, suicide, and self-harm.
1. Chapter 1

**Happy's Lament**

 **Chapter One**

 **"Something Awful"**

The room was dark and quiet. The curtains were drawn; the red fabric filtering the sunlight into a deep, hellish glow; and the only sound was the low _whrrrr_ of the AC, stifling the noise from the streets below. Happy woke with a thick, gooey feeling in her mouth; she tasted copper, and when she opened her eyes they were crusty and stinging. She was in her own bedroom, but something was...off. Wrong. Like someone had come in and moved all her stuff an inch to the left - that kind of disturbed feeling. Happy lifted her head and immediately felt sick; she leaned over and coughed clotted blood and bile onto the carpet. Her whole body ached and stung, like she'd laid down her bike and got tossed across the freeway. She crawled off the bed, where she had been lying naked on top of the blankets, her boots still on her feet, and almost cried out. Pain seared through her, splitting her down the centre. She felt her way in the darkness to the bathroom and flicked the light on, squinting in the bright florescents. She turned the tap on and washed her mouth out clumsily. When she looked in the mirror she gasped. She didn't recognize her own face. Blood had dried on her skin, clumped in her tangled hair, clinging to her eyelashes. Quickly she bent over and washed her face, ignoring the pain, and scrubbed until the blood was gone. She felt along her scalp, under her hair, with trembling fingers until she found the source of the blood; an inch long wound near the crown of her head. It was swollen and scabbed over, the hair around it matted and stiff. Happy tilted her head into the sink to wash it, then squeezed the water out of the ends and grabbed a long Krevelski's t-shirt from the laundry basket by the door and gingerly pulled it over her head. She stumbled through her apartment in the dark, looking for her phone. She couldn't remember coming home, or getting undressed. She didn't even remember what she had been wearing. She started picking up clothes at random, checking the pockets, until she found her phone in the pocket of her favourite black jacket. The battery was dead, so she spent another few minutes searching for the charger cord, and when it finally came to life she saw that it was almost six on Sunday morning. Sunday...what happened to Saturday? What happened to _Friday_?

She had one missed call from Toby earlier in the day, and texts she didn't remember sending from the last two days. Nothing that told her what the hell happened to her memory...to her body. _Something_ happened. Something...awful.

Happy sank to the floor, phone in hand, and tried to remember. Her brain felt sluggish, stupid. She remembered driving on the freeway, and slapping Toby upside the head as she laughed...She remembered seeing Walter typing away at his desk, and Paige speaking to Ralph on the phone. Had that been yesterday? The day before? Last week? Time didn't seem to have meaning at the moment. She closed her eyes, putting her head in her hands. She took long, deep breaths, quelling the rising panic in her stomach...suddenly she leaned forward and was sick on the peeling linoleum floor. Her empty stomach wrenched, bile burning in her throat. Her head pounded like she had drank a barrel of tequila. This was no hangover, though...this was something else. Something worse. Something she recognized from a long, long time ago.

Happy didn't know how long she sat on the floor. It could have been minutes, or it could have been days. Finally she found the strength to rouse herself, pull herself to her feet, and go back to her bedroom. The darkness frightened her; she staggered inside and pulled back the curtains roughly, nearly tugging them off the window entirely. The sunlight blinded her, illuminating the mess. She rummaged through until she found a pair of sweats and stepped into them, wincing. Her keys and wallet were in her jacket, and she shrugged it on over her t-shirt before leaving, clomping down the dusty stairs. She noticed her downstairs neighbour, an elderly lady, sweeping her welcome mat and Happy called out to her; "Hey, Mrs. Novak."

"Oh, hello dear," Mrs. Novak smiled. Happy tried to keep her voice level, strong, as she said, "Hey, do you remember seeing me last night?"

Mrs. Novak gave her an odd look, peering owlishly through her bifocals. "No, I'm sorry dear, you see I was out last night. Bingo at the church across the street, see."

"Oh." Happy swallowed and forced a smile. "Thanks."

Happy found her car in her usual spot, but the doors were unlocked; even the driver's side window was rolled down. She checked the back and got in gingerly. The seat was pushed too far back for her feet to reach the pedals.

She drove to The Garage slowly, feeling like her brain was working at half capacity. She couldn't focus, couldn't think. Finally she pulled into a spot outside the building and got out, walking on trembling knees inside. Everyone was there; Sylvester at his board, Walter at his work desk and Paige at hers. She could hear Toby singing to himself in the kitchen.

"Hey Happy," Sylvester said. He froze, chalk hovering mid-algorithm. "Whoa, are you sick? You look sick."

Happy ignored him, walking straight to the kitchen. Toby was bent over in the fridge, humming around the spoon in his mouth. "Hey Doc," Happy said, her voice weaker than she intended. He looked up, eyes widening at her appearance, and the look on her face. "What's up?" He asked.

Happy took a deep, rattling breath. "I, uh, I don't trust anyone else with this, and you're, um, you're a doctor so...I need, uh, I need a rape kit."

There was silence as Happy breathed deeply, trying to keep from passing out. Toby studied her face, still crouched as though frozen in place. She raised her eyebrows. "Well? Can you do it?"

Toby straightened up slowly and put the spoon on the counter. "I can take you to the hospital," he finally said, his voice hoarse. Happy shook her head. "No."

"Happy..." Toby looked very pale. "There are people there, people better equipped -"

"They don't know shit," Happy cut him off, "Either you do it, or I figure out how to do it myself." She looked him in the eye, and for a moment, she couldn't keep her walls up. "Y...you're the only one I trust."

Toby swallowed heavily, and Happy stared him down for a long, tense moment. Finally, he nodded. "I'll need to get a few things."

Happy didn't relax her posture, even though she was relieved. "Good," she said simply, and turned to go but Toby stopped her. "Happy, wait. Are you going to even tell me what happened?"

Happy looked up at him, trying to keep her face expressionless. "That's what I'm hoping you'll tell me. Meet me upstairs in twenty."


	2. The Benzodiazapine Blues

**Author's Note: Dear Guest,**

 **Thank you so much for the review and kind words. Yes, it is sad - but aren't tragedies just delicious? Also, I would say this is after season 1, but disregarding season 2, if that makes sense. Toby and Happy are more than friends, but less than together. Hope you like this next installment and please let me know your thoughts! 3**

 **Happy's Lament**

 **Chapter Two**

 **"The Benzodiazapine Blues"**

As Toby left the Garage for supplies, Happy grabbed a laptop and set to work hacking into the security camera feed from her building. It was an old piece of junk from the eighties, but Happy had fixed it herself on more than one occasion for her landlord so it should have been a piece of cake - except that she felt like she was working underwater. Happy rubbed her eyes, frustrated, and tried to focus through the thick fog cloaking her world. Finally she managed to pull up the videos from last night. She fast-forwarded until she recognized herself, and hit play. Happy watched the blurry, black and white image of herself come downstairs, keys in hand, alone. That was at seven forty-five yesterday evening. Her heart started racing as she clicked through, searching for her return. She almost missed it - almost. There she was, at just past nine, coming through the door. With someone.

A tall, lanky figure wearing a hoodie to hide his face. Happy watched herself lean on him, her footsteps clumsy, her head lolling around...none of it was familiar. It was like watching someone else, and for a moment she let herself hope that it was. Was that her jacket? Was that her dark hair, her biker boots stumbling up the stairs?

Happy felt sick. There was no use lying to herself. Of course that was her...the question was, who was _with_ her? She zoomed in closer, the pixelated image getting blurrier. He could be anybody. Happy slammed the laptop shut suddenly, her breath catching in her chest. She was gonna puke - she started to get up but fell, her shaking knees colliding with the hard cement floor. Immediately Walter was there, sliding his arms under hers and hauling her to her feet. "I'm fine," she mumbled as he half-carried her over to the sofa.

"You don't look fine," Paige said, coming over. Sylvester was hovering, worried, behind Walter. "You really don't," he confirmed.

"Your pupils are dilated," Walter muttered, his deft fingers probing her skull, "did you hit your head?"

He was too close, too big. Happy could feel his cool breath on her lips as he manhandled her head, looking for the source of her illness. It made her skin crawl. "Don't touch me!" She snapped, bile rising in her throat. She shoved Walter away and leaned over, spitting sour acid onto the floor. He steadied her carefully and stepped away, allowing her to hang her head between her knees, trembling fingers knitting together at the back of her cranium. She could feel eyes on her, studying her, examining her. She just wanted them all to go away. _Stop looking at me_ , she wanted to scream. Just leave me alone.

"Here," Paige said softly, handing her a box of tissues from Sylvester's desk. "I'll get you some water."

"I said you looked sick," Sylvester worried, "Have you been using the antibacterial hand sanitizer I gave you?"

Paige returned with a bottle of water. "Give her some room, guys. Here, Happy, drink some water."

Happy raised the bottle to her lips and took a careful swig. Even that slight movement exhausted her. She just wanted to lay down, be still...disappear. The Garage door opened then, the grating noise making her jump, and Toby paused as he took in the scene before him.

"What did I miss?" He asked slowly. Happy straightened up, trying to take a breath through the lump in her throat. Her chest was tight, constricting, a cold sweat on her skin. "Nothing," she said, "Can we do this?"

"What's happening right now?" Sylvester asked as Happy got to her feet, "All of this is very suspicious."

Happy turned, using all the strength she could muster, and said, "Look I know this team likes to get all up in each other's business, but this time I need you to bug out. And Walter, I need your loft for twenty minutes."

Walter nodded silently, eyes searching her face. She kept it a cool, guarded mask. "Thank you," she said, and turned on her heel, marching up the stairs on shaking legs.

* * *

"Doin' okay there, Happy?"

Happy lifted her arm from where it rested over her eyes, her gaze focusing on the light on Walter's ceiling. She laid on her back on Walter's bed, knees up and toes curling against the edge of the mattress, a towel thrown over her lower half. "Yeah," she managed. It was strange; what was happening now wasn't actual what was making her uncomfortable, but the memory of the last time she was in this position. It was like she was living in an overlay; reality and memory, colliding. When she closed her eyes she couldn't distinguish what was current and what was past.

"This might go faster if you talk to me," Toby said, his tone calm and rational, soft as the touch of his hands. She had always liked Toby's hands, though she would never admit it to anyone.

"I'd rather not, Doc."

Toby was quiet. Happy squinted her eyes as she felt pressure, her fingers curling into fists. "Sorry," Toby murmured, "Almost done."

Happy never thought the first time Toby touched her would be so...clinical. She always thought maybe it would happen on the rooftop, under the stars. Maybe a few cold beers and a telescope between them. Not in Walter's bed with a chilly piece of plastic hitting her cervix.

"Where did you get this stuff, anyway?" She asked, feeling a little guilty about snapping at him. He was doing her an enormous favor, after all. She knew he didn't want to.

"I know a guy who stocks the Planned Parenthood a few miles from here," Toby answered simply, "Nice guy. Bad poker face."

Happy might have smirked in any other situation. Instead she quipped, "Who knew your stupid gambling addiction would come in handy."

Toby straightened up then, slipping his gloves off. "All done," he said softly. Happy sat up, rubbing the back of her neck.

"So?" She inquired, though she really didn't want him to answer. Not yet.

"I want to take some blood," Toby muttered, not meeting her eyes. He took her arm gently and tied it off above her elbow, tapping the sensitive flesh of her forearm to see the veins. She watched him instead of the needle, studying his face. He was good at hiding his thoughts - but not that good. Not with her.

"How bad is it, Doc?"

"Well," Toby sighed, "It's not good. There's some bruising and a small tear, which will heal itself in a few days." He finally looked at her. She nodded slowly, methodically.

"Okay. Thanks."

Toby continued, holding her gaze; "I think you have a concussion, as well. Probably from that Texas-sized bump on your noggin."

"Is that why I feel like I have the world's worst hangover?"

"Maybe. I also think you may have been drugged...is there a weird taste in your mouth? Kind of bitter?"

Happy nodded, watching him frown. "You may have been given Rohypnol, it's a drug formed from Benzodiazapine, a serious tranquilizer. Just twenty mils will put a linebacker out for hours."

"I know what Roofies is," Happy grumbled, "How long til it wears off?"

"It should have already worn off by now, if you were given it last night. I suspect that coupled with your concussion is why you've got the spins. Just rest for a while, drink lots of water. You'll be fine...physically."

Happy rolled her eyes, recognizing that look on his face. She was about to be shrinked. "Save it, Doc. I can handle this. Just let me know when you get the blood test results back."

She slid off the bed and reached for her trousers, pulling them on quickly. She felt irrationally exposed with him standing there - an odd feeling, considering where his hands had been not even five minutes ago. "Happy," Toby put his hands on his hips, "You need to talk to someone. And maybe...go to the police. Maybe Cabe can - "

"No!" Happy turned on him, glaring as threateningly as she could manage, "No police, no Cabe. I can handle this myself."

She made that mistake before. This time, she was taking matters into her own hands. She was going to get her own justice...she needed to.


	3. The Guy With The Spunk

**Happy's Lament**

 **Chapter Three**

 **"The Guy With The Spunk"**

Toby always knew that Happy was a tough motherfucker. He saw her scale buildings by her fingertips, zipline without a harness, and smack the bejeezus out of trained Marinessoldiers. She kicked his own personal ass more times than he could count in the few years he'd known her. But Toby had never seen her as strong as she was in that moment, staring him down with the ferocity of a lioness. "I can do this myself," she said, somehow making it sound like a threat. Everything in Toby wanted to say forget it, I'll do it - I'll take this from you and carry this weight. But he knew he couldn't, even if she would let him. Nothing he could do would lessen the severity of the blow he just gave her. There was no nice way of saying, 'Hey Happy, sorry to tell you this but you were drugged, assaulted, beaten and from what I saw when I was poking around down there, this isn't the first time.'

He never thought their first time would be a gynecological exam. A plastic speculum wasn't exactly what he thought he'd be inserting, that's for damn sure. He always thought maybe their first time getting up close and personal with each other's genitalia would be, well, romantic. Maybe up on the roof. Maybe with some candles and a few stars in the sky. Real teenager-y stuff. Not like this. Never like this.

"You don't have to," was all Toby could sputter under Happy's glare. "I will do everything in my power to help you," he managed.

"Thanks, Doc," she said emotionlessly, "but you fulfilled your purpose. Now get the hell away from me."

She turned and disappeared into Walter's bathroom, the door slamming shut behind her. As soon as she was out of sight Toby fell onto the bed, his hands shaking like three days without betting. God, he couldn't do this. He couldn't watch her take this alone. He was helpless and he hated it.

But this wasn't about him, he reminded himself. This is about Happy. And if he can't fix her, he'll fix it so she can do it herself. That, he had a possible chance of doing.

Toby gathered up the spent kit, throwing out the rubbish and tucking the samples he took carefully into his bag before heading down the stairs two at a time. "Sly," he called, "Buddy, I need you to pull up all surveillance footage you can surrounding Happy's building, okay? Whatever you find, send it to me and only me."

Sylvester stopped sipping a milkshake out of a massive Big Fun Guy cup, confused. "Okay," he said, "but why only you?"

"Because I said so," Toby clapped him on the back, "Keep it between just you and me, alright pal?"

Toby grabbed the keys to Walter's car off his desk, ignoring Walter's protests, and stepped out into the blaring Los Angeles sunshine. Walter's hunk of junk he liked to call a vehicle was parked beside Paige's shiny new now-that's-what-I-call-a-car, and the door creaked painstakingly when Toby opened it. Careful of the inconveniently situated spring in the seat, Toby started the engine and pulled out into traffic with one hand. With the other, he dialled Cabe.

 _"What in the hell are you bothering me for, Toby?_ " Cabe grouched when he finally picked up.

"I need your badge and directions to the Homeland DNA lab."

"Toby, I am not giving you any damn thing until you explain -"

"Cabe, it's for Happy. Something happened to her. You gotta trust me on this."

There was a moment of quiet, and Toby could hear the distant noises of a John Wayne film in the background. " _I'll meet you outside Homeland's Head Office in twenty. And Toby - you're going to tell me what's going on when I get there, right?_ "

"Of course, Agent Gallo, I wouldn't dream of keeping you in the dark." Toby snarked, hitting the hangup button.

Toby zipped somewhat illegally through traffic and got to Homeland with ten minutes to spare. He waited with the radio blasting so loud it shook the car's frame, trying to drown out the angry, desperate buzzing he'd had in his ears ever since Happy said the words "rape kit'. He never wanted to hear that word come from Happy's mouth, ever. And he fact that it did...it made him want to kill someone.

"Have you ever heard of noise pollution, jackass?" Cabe grunted when he got out of his SUV beside Toby. Toby turned the music off and got out, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Cabe was dressed to impress, hair slicked back, shades on, shoes polished. Staring at Toby like he let one rip in the middle of the lord's prayer. "What happened to Happy?"

"I can't tell you." Toby started walking to the doors, and Cabe followed without hesitation. Toby knew he was going to do what he wanted regardless of how much of an ass he was being.

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

They spiraled down to the Homeland laboratory with Cabe flashing his badge at anyone who batted an eyelash. Toby pulled the samples out of his bag and went right in like he owned the place.

"I need you to tell me who's spunk this is," he announced, getting the attention of every lab-coat-wearing idiot in the joint. A tiny blonde woman in her mid-thirties came up to him and said, "I'm the head of the department - and who exactly are you?"

"I'm the guy holding a swabful of semen and telling you to run it through your little database and tell me which particular Angelino it belongs to and why it was hanging out in my friend's cervix. Oh, and congrations by the way - head of the department, I know your mom is really proud of you. She wouldn't give you that necklace you're wearing otherwise."

The woman looked at Cabe, who nodded and raised his badge. "Do what the good doctor says."

Running out of steam, Toby handed the samples over to the woman and pulled up someone's wheely chair, taking a seat in the middle of the room. "I''ll wait here."

Cabe touched Toby's shoulder. "Happy..." he said, and Toby nodded. That was all that needed to be said between them.

It took nearly an hour for the results to come back, and Toby waited in that chair, staring them down until it was finished. "The toxicology report came back positive for rhohypnol," Dr. Winsor told him, passing over the papers, "A lot of it. And your DNA sample is from a man named Brian Connor, a parolee on two counts of sexual misconduct. His last known address is in Pasadena."

Toby took the results and left the lab without a word. Cabe followed suit, and when they were outside Toby finally started talking a mile a minute. "Alright, you and I are going to Pasadena to get this son of a bitch. You got your gun, right?"

"Always," Cabe said, but caught Toby's arm before he jumped into the SUV. "Listen kid, you need to get your head on straight before we go into this. You go in guns blazing and you might get yourself killed."

"I'm fine," Toby muttered, pulling away. "I just wanna get this guy."

As Cabe headed towards Pasadena, Toby called Sylvester. "Hey pal, you got anything for me?"

" _I have all the available footage from Happy's building, as well as all the surrounding buildings. I am sending them to you right...now. Toby, what's wrong with Happy? Did whoever is on this video...hurt her?"_

Toby hesitated. "Yeah, buddy, they did. Tell me, how...how does she look? Is she doing okay?"

" _She was upstairs for a long time, but now she's just welding. Very loudly."_

"Okay, good," Toby smirked, "Keep an eye on her for me, alright Sly?"

 _"Of course."_

Toby hung up and threw his phone onto the dash. "Hey, Miss Daisy, the gas pedal's on the right. Speed it up, Grandpa."

"Do not take that attitude with me, son."


End file.
